


A Fine Morning

by sistasarahsallysaidso



Category: Famous People - Fandom, No Fandom, Unnamed Famous Man, any fandom
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending, Light Angst, POV First Person, clueless male, menstrual cramps, nightgowns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22380634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sistasarahsallysaidso/pseuds/sistasarahsallysaidso
Summary: Being awoken by cramps throws off your game one morning, leading to an awkward conversation you aren't prepared to have with your boyfriend.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	A Fine Morning

Sharp pain swelled in my lower abdomen, waking me from a sound sleep and tearing a soft gasp from my lips. I’d been on my period for four days already and hadn’t had any cramps at all until now. At…squinting at the clock, I thought it looked like it read 6:03 AM. Christ, it was early, and I was still pulsing with an intense ache the likes of which I hadn’t felt since I was a teenager. I wriggled around, trying to find a position that allowed me to stop hurting, though I did vaguely note that no position I could contort myself into could alleviate the pain of the uterine lining ripping away from its wall, unused and for some reason punishing me for that fact. Just my monthly reminder that I still don’t have any children. First Mom, now uterus. Thank you, Mother. Thanks, Uterus.

I didn’t mean to wake him up, too. When I’d gone to bed earlier, he’d already been there, reading a magazine article about himself. I didn’t like him to do that, and really, he didn’t like doing it, either, but he’d been misquoted often enough to know that it was better if he knew about a descending shit storm before he was barraged with it by paps during his morning run. They always knew what buttons to push. He’d gotten better at politely ignoring them and what they said, but still. All it took was one asshole catching him off-guard with a mangled sound bite and he’d look at them like thunder and that’s the photo they’d make sure to sell to the highest bidding site or whatever. Apparently, it “worries your fan base” when constantly being photographed with a scowl.

Anyway. He sort of glanced up towards me when I came in, but didn’t say anything. I went to the bathroom to complete my nightly routine, and when I came out in my nightgown, hair and teeth brushed, face scrubbed and moisturized, he still didn’t speak. I slid into the bed beside him and picked up my tablet to scroll through Tumblr, killing time until he was ready to turn out the lights. Occasionally I’d laugh at some meme or commentary (the tags are somehow always the best), and I’d turn to him, expecting him to evidence interest in what had made me laugh, but his jaw just flexed and he’d kept his eyes trained on the page he held. It crossed my mind maybe I ought to have been worried. Maybe the article was seriously unflattering, or painting him in an unfavorable light. I’ve learned the hard way that it’s difficult for him not to internalize that kind of thing. He really hates being misrepresented. Though who wouldn’t?

Finally, he tossed the magazine onto his nightstand, but instead of asking if I was ready or rolling over to hug me like he might normally do, he just turned out his light and laid down with his back to me. Now, he is a bit moody. So even though I didn’t like it, I didn’t say anything or try to touch him or even bring it up. If he was mad at me for something, he’d eventually say why, and if he was hurting over something else, I knew him well enough to know if he didn’t pipe up about it, he wanted to be alone with it for a while. He was really good about sharing, normally, so I wasn’t worried that letting him stew would be detrimental. Not yet, anyway. If that shit had still been going on the same time next night, I’d have forced his hand. I turned out my light and went to sleep, too.

Then, next thing I knew, the pain. Jesus. I knew my turning about had woken him up as he began shifting around himself, though his eyes remained closed. I got out of bed and went to the bathroom, handling my first-things-first business and noting the heavy blood flow I’d expected with that kind of cramping. Washing my hands, I tried not to look at my Just Woke Up face. It’s not cute. Of course with the entire wall being a mirror and having to lean over a bit to keep my hands under the water, I really couldn’t help but stare straight at my slightly puffy eyes and blotchy skin tone, the matted hair (definitely should have braided that before I went to sleep), the stretch-marked breasts. Mentally shrugging, as this is what I always look like in the morning, I shuffled over to the medicine cabinet and shook out the extra strength pills I knew would help, given some time.

Turning out the light, I stepped back into the bedroom, my night-vision ruined by the bathroom light, and felt my way back to the bed. I sat down and very slowly reached out for the cup of water I keep on my nightstand. Finding it and managing not to knock it over, I swallowed the pills and laid back down, still hurting. I’d just pulled the covers back over my exposed arm when I heard him turn his head on his pillow.

“You okay?”

I opened my eyes again, and briefly thought about not answering in a childish imitation of his actions last night, but knowing that would be unproductive, I answered instead.

“Yeah. Cramps woke me up.”

“Did you take something?”

“Yeah. It’ll kick in soon.”

I heard him shift again, and felt the bed dip by my back as he moved closer. He spooned up behind me, rendering the covers moot, as his body is more or less a furnace at all points in time. He pushed my hair up to the top of my pillow and scooted his face right behind my head, breathing out onto my neck. Rubbing my arm with his free hand, he said, “I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say to that, really.

“Me, too.”

He was quiet again, and his hot hand had stopped on my shoulder, so I closed my eyes again, his heat reminding me that we had a hot water bottle somewhere that I could go get if the pills didn’t start working soon enough.

I shifted again, pulling my top leg up toward my chest, hoping that might help make me more comfortable. I really needed to get to sleep. I had to be up in less than an hour to get ready for work.

“Still hurting?’ he asked. I made an unintelligible sound of assent and he started pulling on my shoulder.

“Lay back.”

I turned on my back and looked at him looming over me on his elbow, blocking the ambient moonlight glowing through the window behind him. I saw his silhouette move and felt his hand at nearly the same time. His fingers glided to a stop between my hipbones and pressed down slowly. The hand trapped between us flew up of its own accord to his arm, though I didn’t push it away. I trusted him, and I knew he wouldn’t deliberately hurt me.

“What are you doing?”

“I had a girlfriend once who said her sister used to massage her abdomen when she was cramping, and it helped. I massage my muscles when I cramp to get them to relax, so I thought this might help.”

I remained quiet, refraining from telling him that these cramps were different, and concentrated on the feel of him trying to massage my uterus. As he moved his hand around in small circles, he’d occasionally swipe across some place that hurt worse than others and the pain would become more acute.

“Ow. OW. This is supposed to help?”

“You tell me.”

I was about to tell him exactly what was what, but I noticed that it did actually feel a bit better, less intense. And I was happy to have his hands on me again. I didn’t want to waste what little time in the big, comfy bed remained before the alarm clock would begin its daily duty, so I didn’t bring up last night or ask what had made him upset. I could bring that up after work. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the heat from his hand, lifting my knees, bending them under the covers. His hand stilled and radiated warmth – no hot water bottle needed after all.

“Better?”

“Yes,” I breathed, “thank you.”

He kissed my cheek and I cradled his arm, effectually keeping his hand over me while he lay back down beside me.

“If you were pregnant you wouldn’t have cramps for a while.”

I greeted this random pronouncement with not a modicum of respect or attention as I snorted. Loudly.

“True. I wouldn’t have cramps for nine months. And then I would have the worst cramps known to woman for upwards of 24 hours straight while my uterus pushed out an entire baby instead of just its lining. Having a baby is definitely not a solution to the cramp situation.”

I hadn’t opened my eyes, but I could feel him smiling in the dark. I should have left it there, but it was 6-bloody-20 in the morning. All cylinders were not firing.

“Besides, we’re not married. I’m not having kids without a guarantee their father’s going to be around to show them what it means to love their mother.”

This was met with silence. A long, protracted silence that made me open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. There was a slight feeling of anticipation, as though he was about to say something but was mulling it over first, trying to figure out how it was going to go over with me. I was wide-eyed and somewhat panicky when I said:

“Don’t you dare…”

His thumb stilled where it had been stroking the soft satin of my nightgown.

“Don’t what?” he intoned.

“Don’t suggest we get married because you want babies.”

This is not a conversation I’d wanted to have like this. Throughout our relationship, which had started out slowly, I’d been careful not to bring up concepts of permanency or implications that I wanted more than what we had. The fact is that as much as I wanted the full package, I’d have gratefully settled for exactly what we had for the rest of my life. It was just so good… It sounds dumb, but I didn’t want to jinx it, so I let everything ride. I had resisted moving in together for a while, and at first I thought that was going to be a deal-breaker for him. But in the end, I gave in. It was so convenient to see him every second he was in town and he didn’t have to have an empty house sitting around while he was away. It worked out logically and logistically. That’s how I rationalized it to myself, anyway. Truth was that I had just been scared to sink that far into the relationship and then have it all explode in my face later. This was by far the most solid relationship I’d ever been in. Everything was new ground.

He still hadn’t said anything, but that feeling like he was about to say something had gone away. I could feel his eyes on me, though. I didn’t want to make eye contact. It felt like that would be an invitation to talk about it, and I really didn’t want to have such a serious discussion with cramps and eight whole minutes in which to finish it before I had to get up. And yet, I couldn’t let him have that statement hanging over his head all day, either. It also crossed my mind right after the words were out that he could have followed them up with a denial that he was going to ask, which would have been mortifying, and I wanted to erase the set-up somehow.

“Children aren’t a good reason to get married. A marriage should be about the two people marrying. I think children should be the by-product of that kind of union, not the purpose.”

His thumb started moving again, though he still didn’t say anything. I couldn’t remember if we’d ever spoken before about our views of marriage and child-rearing, so I knew if they didn’t mesh, this could be the beginning of the end. A very depressing thought at 6:25 AM when your lover was snuggled up beside you, warm and connected and real.

He closed his eyes and lay there, but I couldn’t. The thought that I might have just derailed all the progress we’d made, that our relationship could prove shortly to have been based on more superficial concepts than I’d thought and hoped was not one I could ignore. Sooner than I would have liked, but with a little relief, I heard my alarm go off. Normally I’d have hit the snooze button and gone to sleep for another ten minutes, but I was grateful to have the excuse to get up and have enough distance between us that he wouldn’t likely bring up the conversation again right then.

As I moved through my morning routine, I kept feeling a sense of inevitability weighting my movements. Whether it happened later that day or in a few months, I had done what I hadn’t wanted to do: put the thought of marriage and family-–specifically involving the two of us-–front and center in his head. I knew that at this moment he was having a visceral and immediate reaction to the idea. If it was a positive one, then we were safe, at least for a little while. But in my head, I didn’t have to plan for that, didn’t have to brace myself for that possibility. No, I needed to brace myself for the possibility that his gut reaction was one that said a swift and decisive No, thanks. If that was what was happening, then I knew from experience he would eventually break things off with me. He would assume that since I brought it up, I was thinking about those things and wanting more from him than he’d found he was willing to give.

I’d dressed and was in the kitchen making his coffee like usual, grabbing my lunch food and a banana when he wandered in. He was still wearing his pajama pants and a t-shirt, and as a concession to the January date had pulled a knit sweater over it all. I poured him his first mug and handed it to him without looking him in the eye. He took it with mumbled thanks and leaned against the counter while he took his first sip of the day. The corner of my mouth quirked upward almost against my will to see him still so groggy this morning. He always took a while to wake up fully, and I loved his stupid, sleepy morning self.

I finally got my food for the day packed and I leaned into him, kissing his cheek.

“I’m off. See you later. Love you.”

I walked swiftly to the front door, trying not to appear any more agitated than I usually am when leaving in the morning, and I had just finished pulling open the front door when he called my name from where he stood in the kitchen.

There was a clear line of sight from where I stood to him, and I paused, not really wanting to hear whatever he was about to say, knowing it would ring inside my head while I tried to concentrate on my clients and their issues.

“When I ask you to marry me, it will be because I want you. Not just the babies we’ll make together.”

I stopped breathing for a moment as his words sank in. As my lungs filled back up, I couldn’t stop the smile spreading across my face. Huge smile. Lit-from-within kind of stuff. A soft and sleepy grin was my smile’s match on his face.

“Good to know.”


End file.
